


The Magic Trick

by TheConsultingStepladder



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Post Reichenbach, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheConsultingStepladder/pseuds/TheConsultingStepladder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Reichenbach. John Watson goes back to Sherlock's grave on Boxing Day and finds something unexpected waiting for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Magic Trick

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [One More Christmas Miracle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/546892) by [daleksanddetectives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daleksanddetectives/pseuds/daleksanddetectives). 



> Inspired to write this short sequel based on my lovely friend daleksanddetectives Christmas ficlet. Enjoy.

_26th December 2012, Boxing Day 10:04 am_

The air was biting and crisp that morning. It nipped at John's nose and cheeks, but he was glad for it.   
Everything felt new and fresh; the air, the new layer of snow that had fallen. 

'First White Christmas in four years,' he remembered.

The memories of the night before were still warm and lingered in his thoughts and he crunched his way through the cemetery gates, leaning on his cane.

Molly and Mrs Hudson had been in wonderful spirits, especially when they received his presents, a necklace for Molly, a new scarf for Mrs H.  
Lestrade had a little too much to drink in the evening and had spent the night on John's couch.

All in all it had been a pretty cheerful Christmas day.  
John was wearing the shirt Molly gave him and though it was a little snug in places, the colour suited him well.

Turning the corner and rounding the cluster of trees, however, John slowly felt the sweet smiles and choking laughter of the previous day melt away and suddenly all was silent. He swallowed as the uneasiness that always followed him to that spot swelled in his stomach.

The grave stone had a thick layer of snow laying upon it. John brushed it off gently with a gloved hand. The dark granite stared out at him from the sea of white and his bit his lip.

'Morning Sherlock.'

He stood for a while, hands in pockets, just looking. Trying to picture his friend under all that snow. 

No Watson, not like that. 

Picturing him instead at the gathering yesterday, sitting grouchily in his favourite chair, deducing everyone's presents and playing a slow carol on the violin, smirking and relishing the praise he got for performing.

John smiled involuntarily. It was followed by a sigh,a little sad but content at those thoughts, imagined though they may be.

Taking one glove off, he leant forward and pressed his hand against the ice cold slab, almost hoping he could feel his friend's heat still resonating there.

He dropped his gaze downwards and was met with a surprise. 

A small box, wrapped entirely in black paper lay nestled behind the gravestone. A small white tag hung from it's wrappings and he could make out from where he stood, a single word written in black ink. 

**John.**

He snatched it up without a moment's hesitation. Turning the tag over there was a small message in the same handwriting. 

**Merry Christmas, Dr John H. Watson. From a friend.**

Strange though it was and slightly suspicious, John felt drawn to the person's handwriting and the odd comfort he found in their words.  
Without a second thought, he ripped open the black paper to reveal an expensive looking velour box. Unclipping the lid he opened it up and a short gasp left him. 

A very expensive watch glittered back at him.   
Though the make and material were top quality, the face of it was plain and uncluttered by the usual gadgetry. Uncomplicated, straightforward. It was durable and timeless in it's design. Amazing.

John snapped the lid back down, mouth slightly agape.   
He couldn't fathom who would think he was worth such a beautiful gift or why they'd leave it in such an odd place, but for a moment, he and Sherlock's grave shared a glance that was more than just grief or mourning.

John left the churchyard feeling uneasy, just as he had when he arrived.

But it was not at all the same sort of feeling.


End file.
